


Through the Open Gates

by ScratchConlon



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScratchConlon/pseuds/ScratchConlon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lane Carter has been running her entire life from “Il Sole Nero” an Italian gang which murdered her father. Free and clear she returns to Brooklyn until it’s discovered Il Sole Nero has a new target. Spot Conlon has never run from anything, however this is a new kind of threat even he can’t face alone. Thrown together from different worlds, it’s hard for either of them to accept help, especially from the other, however running from death can build the unbreakable bonds of trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies! First story up on this site, I normally work off of Fanfiction.net so this shall be fun. Feel free to drop me a line or leave a review. Thanks for reading, I appreciate it tremendously. Thanskamillion -Scratch

“Damn wind.” Lane Carter cursed as she hopped onto the side of the Brooklyn bridge. She swung her feet out over the river as the glowing sun descended, turning the water an iridescent gold. Fallen leaves blew through the air as her messy black hair curled across her neck. November began the time of year she wished her feet were covered with shoes. She pressed her fingers into the worn brick until she could feel the indentations they had left in her skin. Back in Brooklyn for the holidays. It wasn’t where she imagined she’d be, but there had been worse places.

            “Hey, uh, miss?” a voice sounded behind her. She lowered her head, pretending not to hear the low pitch of the owners voice.

            “Miss?” The voice sounded again, a new urgency there. She sighed and spun her head around, her green eyes fierce and unforgiving.

            “Whada youse want?!” She demanded, her temper and accent slipping for the third time that day. There were three boys before her, as poor as her by the looks of them. The tallest looked out of place and ridiculous with a cowboy hat, the middle was the shortest, an Italian by his features, and a third, looking just as ridiculous with an eye patch.

            “Is the damn circus in town?” She muttered, lifting an eyebrow. The short one let out a chuckle but stepped forward, his hands raised in defense.

            “Hey now, we’se just wanted to make sure you weren’t about to jump.” He said, which explained their worried expressions. Jump? If she wanted to die her life had already given her plenty of chances to do that. She almost laughed out loud at the insanity of it. Almost. She swung her legs over and jumped to the pavement, flatting out her black skirt over her makeshift trousers. They were ragged, she noted, but would last the winter.

            “You boys don’t need ta worry about me, I’m just fine on me own.” She assured them, turning and walking towards the distant Brooklyn skyline. The boys quickly caught up to her.

 “ I’se sure youse are, but we just wanted to help.” He stated. Help. That word rang in her head, she never needed help, taking help meant defeat. She stopped, closed her eyes, and turned to face them.

“What is it exactly that youse boys want?” She asked, keeping her temper under control. The one with the cowboy hat stepped forward.

 “ Look, Me name’s Jack Kelly, but youse can call me Cowboy,” Lane chuckled at that one, of course, his nickname was Cowboy, very original.

            “And this is Kid Blink and Racetrack.” He said motioning to the two other boys. Lane crossed her arms and tried a smile.

 “Well it was nice ta meet you boys, I’ll be on me way then.” Lane said turning on her heel.

“Wait!” Cowboy called after her once more. She lost it now.

“What do I have ta do ta get rid of youse!!” She screamed at them, splaying her arms out in exhaustion.

“Just wanted to say if youse ever needed anything youse can count on the Manhattan newsies, come to our lodge house if youse ever get in a fix.” Cowboy offered.

“I’ll try to remember that.” Lane muttered sarcastically. She turned to go yet again, breaking into a run before they could say anything more. She’d have to sleep in some back alley tonight. She hadn’t eaten since this morning and was too shaky and annoyed to find a safer spot to crash.

The newsies just wanted some helpless damsel to save. They were pretty famous for picking up some run-away and getting her back on her feet. It’s a miracle they ever had time to sell. Lane had had plenty of run-ins with the newsboys and she really didn’t need another.

She turned a corner as she got off the bridge and stole behind some buildings. There was a cart in the back which looked like baking racks. If she was lucky, this was a bakery that would throw out stale bread come nightfall. She huddled her thin frame in between some crates and settled in for a long night. She’d figure out where to go in the morning.

***

The bright rays of morning came and slipped into the forgotten alley. The smell of fresh rye bread snaked behind the crates, waking Lane from an uncomfortable night. She stretched and looked around, growing angrier with herself in each passing moment. Not only had she missed her chance of a meal, but she over slept as well.

She stood and stretched, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun as got her bearings. She heard the bustle of the city waking and the familiar rumble of feet on wood, followed by a loud splash and cheers. She smiled to herself. That was the tell-tale sign of the Brooklyn newsies.

Lane slipped out of the alley and down to the water’s edge a block away, sliding down by the rocks until she could reach the black water. She cupped a handful and splashed her face, wiping her cheeks. A blurry and wavy reflection showed a skin-and-bones girl with two dark slashes of eyebrow across her forehead, the wisps of her black hair falling like seaweed around her. She pulled the mane back into a make-shift bun and admired herself in the water. She wasn’t much to look at but she was alive.

 _Look at me._ She thought confidently. She’d been on the streets since she was 9 and though she did spend a short time with the newsies in her past, she didn’t need them. She’d always survived on her own. A little time here, a little time there. She sighed and thought of the weather. _November_ she had heard someone say. November 1899 it must be. That would make her 17 years of age. It wasn’t a bad age but thoughts of settling down began to cloud her mind.

            Lane had been called many things. No one but herself knew if Lane Carter was her real name. That’s exactly how she liked it too. No ties. She didn’t have to worry about upsetting anyone when she took off now and again. And she did have a habit of just taking off.

She heard a splash from further down the river again and pushed the thoughts from her mind. She had been away for a long time now and figured it was time to pay a certain ‘king’ a visit. She’d always preferred the Brooklyn newsboys to the other rag-tag groups. They were tougher, street-smart, and simply reminded her of herself.

Lane smiled as she made her way down to the third dock from the end. The East river sprayed icy water into the air as she turned and walked down the dock, her bare heels marking her entrance on the worn wood. A small red-headed boy she didn’t know saw her coming and ran off with a squeak, obviously to tell the boys there was an intruder on their dock. . Sure enough a moment later Spot Conlon came into view, his gold-tipped cane out and his blue eyes burning with a premeditated hatred.

            He was flanked by 10 other strong looking boys, most of which she recognized. They all looked determined to scare off the intruder. Lane saw this show of defense and smirked lightly, crossing her arms until Spot saw her.

            “Mr. Conlon.”  Lane said quietly, but with an air of smugness. It had been about a year since she’d been back in the city, and Spot had grown up. His jaw was strong and well set and Lane could see lean muscles forming under his light shirt. Seeing him after so long hit her hard and the past year seemed that much longer.

            “Lane Carter.” Spot said dryly, his eyes betraying his voice as they lit with a show of his true happiness. The boys he was flanked by gave a chorus of ‘hellos’ but quickly went back to the edge of the dock, saving the catching up for later. As soon as they were gone Spot quickly moved to her and pulled her into a hug. She patted his back lightly, not used to this kind of human contact any more, and was sure he could feel the hesitation in her body. After a moment he backed her up at arm’s length.

            “How you been, kid?” He asked looking her over, and shaking his head. She punched him lightly, warning him to keep his eyes where they belonged.

            “I married and am now sitting on the lap of luxury.” She joked, motioning to her ragged and dirty clothes. Spot laughed, without restraint and it made Lane relax. He looked over his shoulder then turned her away from the docks.

            “Let’s head back to the lodge house to talk.” He decided, wrapping his arm over her. She settled into the familiar warmth of his side and smiled, pulled his cane from his red suspenders and twirled it lightly in her hands. She had to admit. It was good to be back in Brooklyn. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys, suggestions are welcome! I don't bite. -Scratch

Little words were exchanged on the short walk to the Brooklyn lodge house but neither Spot nor Lane minded the silence. They were creatures of habit and silence was something they were used to.

They reached the old brick building and skirted around to the back, going down a short flight of stairs to an entryway set into the ground. Spot pulled the heavy oak door open for Lane like a proper gentleman, and she fell into an awkward curtsy with a boyish wink. Teasing Spot about his manners was always a good time. They walked into the little space used as a kitchen and Lane perched herself on the wooden counter as Spot fell into old routine. He busied himself with attempting to get them something warm to drink as Lane looked around at the chipping paint on the old walls.

“Is this place getting smaller or is it just me?” She muttered pulling her knees to her chest and leaning against the cabinets. Spot laughed as he examined two chipped mugs for dirt.

“You grew up Lane, what do you expect? Haven’t ya’ heard things change with age?” He asked finally serving up two luke warm cups of something that looked like coffee. She took one gratefully as she jumped to the ground.

“When did you become such a philosopher?” She asked under her breath as she took a tentative sip and followed Spot out of the kitchen, up a rickety flight of stairs, past the bunk room and into a tiny private room Spot occupied as leader.

As Spot closed the door behind them Lane climbed into a familiar spot, sitting on the hard bed and leaning against the cool brown paint of the walls. She curled her feet under her and was grateful for the heat that was supplied.

Spot sat across from her on the edge of the bed, grasping the chipped mug with both hands and slouching over himself slightly, one eye still on the door. He looked up at her then and shook his head.

“So where you been Lane?” He started, but continued in a rush before she could answer, “Are you still goin’ by Lane these days or should I inform me boys that this isn’t really Lane Carter we’re dealin’ with?” he laughed, a hint of real worry present in his sharp voice. She shook her head, recalling the days Spot had started to figure out she had more than one persona she went by.

“As far as you’re boys are concerned, I’m still Lane Carter.” She sighed, taking another sip and letting the coffee run through her veins and warm her body. Spot shook his head, a hint of anger rising into his blue eyes as they rose to meet her green ones.

“And what about the rest of the world, huh? Who are you to them?” He asked quietly, holding her gaze until she finally looked away. For as long as Lane could remember her life had been a puzzle to Spot and he never missed an opportunity to try to piece it together.

“I’m nobody and I’m everybody.” She said lightly, supplying the answer she’d always given him, hoping routine would hold and his anger would fade. But this was Spot, and anger stuck to him like flies. He looked into his coffee for a brief moment, his eyebrows kitting together, aging his face another five years into adulthood. He finally sighed and looked up.

“Lane, we’ve known each other forever. We grew up together. How come I still know nothin’ about you?” His voice rose in anger, as he gestured to her with his open hand, looking her over once more as if she really were a stranger in his room. She shook her head, strands of black curl falling from her bun and framing her face.

“Maybe I shouldn’ta come back. Isn’t Lane Carter enough for you?” She questioned, matching his anger as she met his glare with one of her own. He huffed angrily and stood, putting his coffee down so some splashed out of the mug as he paced the room back and forth once. He finally turned on his heel to face her.

“Don’t ever wonder if you should come back Lane!” He shouted, taking his golden-tipped cane out of his suspenders with habit and swung it once harshly. He huffed air out of his lungs stiffly and met her gaze.

“Don’t ever wonder if you should come back.” He repeated with a certain air of defeat, his voice still guarded. The air rang in the stillness after his outburst and Lane set her coffee on the window sill, rising to meet him. They stood for a moment across from each other as his words and quiet fell around them. She finally smiled softly.

“Damn, Spot, you have to get control of that temper.” She muttered, attempting to clear the air of ill-feelings. She knew he cared, and it was true they have spent a good portion of their lives together. She moved to him and hugged him to herself softly, hearing him drop his cane to the floor and embrace her in return.

            The door to Spot’s room burst open, hitting the wall with a loud crack and invoking a gasp from Lace as she quickly pulled away from Spot’s embrace to face the door. 

            “What the Hell?!” Spot cried and turned quickly, a new fire in his eyes, upset at being interrupted. The boy who entered was the short Italian looking one from the bridge yesterday. He held his cap twisted in his hand and was covered head to toe in a fine black powder, a wild look in his eyes.

            “What is it Racetrack?” He asked impatiently, but the boy barely gave him time to finish his question.

            “It’s the lodge house.” He said, shaking his head, almost in tears. Suddenly the black powder made sense, it was soot, and the lodge house was burning. Spot said no more but grabbed Lane’s hand and made for the door, running down the steps with Racetrack trailing closely behind them. As soon as they got out the doors and into the cold air, Spot dropped Lane’s hand and broke into a run, both her and Race matching his pace easily as he ran past the docks and onto the Brooklyn bridge. As soon as they reached the other side, Spot slowed, catching his breath.

            “What happened?” Spot asked, his eyes focused on the horizon. Racetrack shook his head.

            “I wish I knew, Spot. This morning we were getting ready for work and we smelled smoke…” He breathed deeply and looked around.

            “The fire started in the back alley, by the cellar. Nobody knows how yet.” He muttered, catching his breath. Spot shook his head and took off his cap, his blond hair flopping onto his forehead as he once again took off into a run. His eyes looked for something unseen and his feet ran the familiar path to The Manhattan lodge house without needing directing from his mind.

            A faint worry began to form in the back of Lane’s mind. She had spent time at the Manhattan lodge house, almost at the very beginning of her twisted story. She still remembered waking up and seeing the faint light come in from the frosted washroom windows, and the way it lit up the entire bunk room, casting long shadows from the bunk posts. She looked to the boy called Racetrack and wondered if he remembered her as she secretly did him. They slowed again once the lodge house was only a few blocks away.

“Was anyone hurt?” She asked him after a minute. Racetrack was about to answer but a strange look overtook his face. His eyebrows nit as he finally answered.

            “A few scrapes, but nothing serious, A lot of the boys were outside already.” He said, his eyes never straying from Lane’s.

            “Have we met?” Racetrack finally asked. Lane rolled her eyes, deciding to keep her mouth shut for now.

            “If you count yesterday on the bridge then yes.” She replied as the lodge house finally came into sight. Lane stopped short as the she saw the scarred brick, a deep ugly black, and the smoke hit her nose. She shook her head as Racetrack too slowed down and Spot let out an angry breath, crossing his arms defensively. The burned shell of a building had been considered home to all three of them in some way.

 Lane walked forward slowly, leaving the other two behind as she moved through the space where the door used to be. She coughed roughly, the smell of the burning wood still very present. Lane moved further into the front hall, watching where she stepped, though it didn’t seem like the front room was too badly damaged, the brick still stood but most of the wood was burned away. Her eyes began to water as she looked around and she couldn’t tell if it was from emotion or the smoke.

            She looked to the front desk and saw an old, leather bound, red faded book. It was the ledger the keeper Kloppman kept all the records in. She opened the cover carefully, fingering the gold lettering that read _Journal._ She flipped through the pages to find the latest entry:

_Scotty McRowland- Tumbler-7- -6-11-99_

            Seven years old. Her eyes burned again and she wiped at them with her sleeve. Seven. That’s younger then Lane was when she left home. She turned farther back in the book until she found a smudged old entry she recognized.

            _Lane Carter- Willow-9- -8-2-91_

            Lane ran her dirty fingers over the dark ink. _Willow_ _._ A name she’d never forget. She had only stayed here a little over two years, but she still remembered answering to the familiar name. Lane was still deep in thought and didn’t hear the soft footsteps that approached her then.

            “Hello Miss Willow.” A tired voice rang out into the stillness. Without missing a beat, Lane smiled slyly and replied:

            “Mr. Kloppman.” Lane lifted her head to look at the tired man. He still wore old brass glasses that probably no longer helped much with his sight and his bowtie was slightly crooked like always. She would swear Kloppman was always old…but today, he looked even older. His wrinkled hands came to rest near the top of the old journal, on the other side of the desk.

            “Never thought I’d see your crafty face in this lodge house again.”  He said with a weathered sigh, his green eyes concerned.

            “Neither did I sir, but things change. The heart attaches itself to memories, even when you don’t want it to.” She whispered to him, nodding her head and closing the book. Kloppman moved slowly around the desk and pulled Lane into his arms.

            “It’s good to see you.” He started, “I don’t have to worry for a while.” He then whispered to himself. Lane pulled away and shook her head.

            “I wouldn’t let myself get hurt, sir, you know that better than anyone.” She said, their eyes meeting in a mutual agreement to always secretly worry about the other. Kloppman pulled back and smiled, looking around.

            “Will you be in town then for a while?” He asked, attempting to come off as nonchalant. Lane grinned and laughed lightly.

            “Don’t worry; I haven’t forgotten where your house is. Considering you have quarters here. I’ll stop by if I need a bed.” She reassured, trying to brush off the offer she knew was coming. Kloppman sighed and shook his head, giving a small grin before turning and heading back towards the office.

            “Excuse me for being a grandfather.” He murmured to himself before shutting the door behind him. She smiled and turned as well, making her way from the main room, then upstairs. Over the course of the next 15 minutes she explored the place that used to be her home. She met Racetrack a couple times again and the way he looked at her when he thought she couldn’t see was proof enough he remembered her from her stay so long ago.

            A while later she met with Spot in the back alley, where the fire supposedly started. She bent to the ground, running her hand over the warm brick at the base of the building.

            “How did it possibly start down here? There’s no way.” Lane whispered, wiping a bit of soot of the brick. Spot didn’t respond and Lane turned to see his eyes troubled and downcast.

            “You don’t think it was an accident do you?” She asked standing and walking towards him. He shook his head softly, once.

            “I can smell a rat, Lane. And I know you can too. How does a natural fire start from bricks? I know you can tell, you could always tell.” He muttered, crossing his arms and leaning against the alley wall, looking at what used to be the kitchen door. Lane nodded, still facing him. She smelled the rat, this was planted.

Spots eyes suddenly turned to her, cold and sharp and accusing.

            “You know don’t you? You have to know.” He yelled, pushing off the wall and crossing to her quickly. Lane gasped and stared at him questioningly.

            “You suddenly show up being all mysterious and the lodge house gets set on fire! You know Lane! You have a part!” Spot shouted cornering her against the stone. Lane glared down Spot’s gaze, her stare as mean as his. Spot drilled his eyes into hers searching for a confession that wasn’t there.

            “Tell me Lane!” He commanded pushing at her shoulders. Lane didn’t let people push her around, she was mad and she did what Spot didn’t expect and shoved him right back.

“Tell me why I’d hurt the newsies! Why would I hurt my family?!” She yelled. Spot’s eyes became stone and he turned, sparing one more accusing look before pushing the door open and going inside with a huff.

Lane walked to the other side of the alley, leaned against the wall then fell slowly to the cold, wet ground gazing at the rooftops above. She hadn’t started it, she had no reason to start it and she knew well that Spot wasn’t really blaming her, he was just angry someone would do this.

And it was someone, this fire was no mistake. Suddenly, Lane knew it was true. Over the kitchen door, marked in deep black coal, was a symbol. A symbol Lane would never forget.

It was a circle, a sun. A deep black sun, that struck a fear into Lane she hadn’t ever really forgotten. The symbol was everything a sun shouldn’t be. It was rigid and dark, when you looked at it, your blood ran cold. She sat frozen until she realized why it was there. From the brick it was drawn upon hung a black string and a familiar little silver key was attached.

Lane stared at the key in disbelief, unable to think, or move.

  _A key. The key! Why that key!?_

That sun had destroyed everything she had ever known, and now they’re back, and they want the key. It made no sense, but it did at the same time.

            Lane jumped up and scrambled towards the mark, reaching, and grabbing the cold little key in her grasp, pushing through the remnants of the door and running as hard as she could into the lobby where she found Spot quietly talking with Racetrack. She stopped in the doorway, breathing hard, staring at Spot’s chest, hoping to see the glint of _his_ key. But there was none. Spot’s key was clutched tight in her hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Feel free to drop me a line, and thanks again to those who review! You’re all the best! Thanksamillion –Scratch

 

The black sun and the key. These were things young Lane Carter didn’t want to appear together. In fact, it had never crossed her mind that these two things would have to exist in the same place. They were opposites, and thinking of that Lane realized that was exactly why the Black Sun had chosen the key. It wasn’t really a warning, as it seemed. No, it was much more than that. There was really nothing that could be done once they decided on whom to kill. It was simply to strike fear into the victim, to make them run. It was a game to the Black Sun members. A game of tag, and you never got the chance to be ‘it.’ And honestly, Lane couldn’t think of a time that someone had out run the Black Sun, they were everywhere, but now, they were back.

All these thoughts ran through Lane’s mind as she stood frozen in the doorway to the Manhattan Newsboys Lodge House. Her piercing green eyes never left Spot Conlon’s chest. Her breath came fast and she leaned heavily against the wall, shaking her head in disbelief. Spot glanced up at the noise and his eyes became hard diamonds, reluctant, but hard none the less. With a glance to Racetrack and a dismissing wave, Spot stood, slowly coming closer to her. Race looked anxiously at the two but shook his head, muttered something under his breath and pushed past Lane, outside. Spot opened his mouth to talk but Lane cut him off.

“Where’s your key then?” She asked quietly, keeping it hidden in her fist. Spot looked down to his chest reflexively before pursing his lips and quickly looking back up, his face a blank mask except for his eyes which were still dark blue and guarded.

“I dropped it somewhere.” He said quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging before opening his mouth again, Lane cut him off once more, shaking her head and taking a step towards him.

“No, it was pulled off in a fight.” It wasn’t a question, but she tried hard to keep her voice from wavering. She recognized the little rope burn on the side of his neck, right under his collar, where the little black string must have been pulled taut trying to stay in one piece. Spot’s coarse fingers reached up and grazed the mark lightly. He nodded once, his eyes hard.

She opened her fist and let the little key unfurl from her palm, finally hanging from her thumb. Spot’s eyebrows furrowed as he instinctively reached for it.

“Where’d you get that?” He asked accusingly as Lane snatched it away from his outstretched hand.

“No, please don’t, Spot.” She said a little too loudly. She spared a look towards the empty doorframe, unsure if Racetrack was just around the corner. Spot followed her gaze and shook his head once, grabbing her elbow and pulling her into the little room behind the desk, he slammed the door and dust circled the small space, mixing in the sunlight that shone from the one window, casting beams on Spot’s rigid features. He crossed his arms and looked at her with a tilt of his head, his jaw moving with his frustration.

“What’s going on here Lane?” He asked with a wave of his hand. “You’re never this jumpy.” He muttered taking a step slowly towards her, a mix of frustration and something resembling care in his eyes. Lane dropped her eyes and took a step sideways.

“Spot, you’ve got to let me past. There’s so much more at stake here than you realize.” She told him, shaking her head, and trying to keep her voice even.

“Just give me my key, Lane. I don’t care what you do after that.” He muttered anger rising into his voice as she once again denied him his necklace, clutching it to her chest. He threw his hands up and spun around once then moved towards her and tilted his head quizzically.

“You just found me my key, why won’t you give it up?” He asked, gauging her reaction and wondering if this was connected to the fire at all. Lane looked out the window at the high sun. There was no telling how much time they had before The Black Sun knew they had found the key. Her breath came in sharp bursts and she looked around franticly, raking a hand through her messy curls, pulling it from its ties. She felt like the 7 year old girl who had seen the Black Sun kill the one she loved most. She ducked her head as hot tears brimmed over her eyes. She hadn’t cried in years, and Spot knew that.

Spot’s eyes grew wide before they transformed again into hard little slits. Her grabbed her shoulders and backed her into the corner, away from the window. He looked over his shoulder at the closed door, before turning to her and lowering his face to her level. His voice was low and soft.

“Lane, Lane, listen to me. Whatever you’re afraid of, it won’t hurt you.” He said holding her face and forcing her to look at him through her blurry vision.

“I’ll protect you okay? You have to tell me what it is you’re afraid of though.” He whispered reassuringly. Lane sniveled and wiped her eyes fiercely, setting her jaw against his strong hands.

“Spot, it’s not my life I’m afraid for, it’s yours. Now you’ve...you’ve got to let me go.” She muttered clutching the key more tightly. Spot took a half of a step back, surprise written on his face.

“My life?  If I move, you’ll tell me what’s going on?” He asked, blindsided by the fact that his life might be at stake. Lane nodded and he dropped his hands from her shoulders. The second his grip loosened Lane was running at full speed through the little room, out the door, and out the back into the little alley way. Spot chased her out and just as she was reaching up to put the key back in its place, he grabbed her from behind, the force knocking them both into the brick wall. Lane pushed uselessly against the wall, angry she wasn’t faster.

She wasn’t afraid at all at Spot’s controlling nature. She knew he would run after her, she just thought she could beat him. He’d never hurt her though, besides his tight grip on her waist.

“Damn it Lane, you said you’d tell me, now talk!” He yelled, not loosening his grip on her. Lane didn’t speak but simply reached up and pointed to the drawing above her head. Spot stopped struggling with her and shifted onto his back foot, gazing up at the menacing little drawing. Though he didn’t know what it meant, Lane felt his body stiffen, it scared him too, and he wasn’t used to fear. He loosened his grip a little and Lane turned in his arms to face him, trying to keep her composer and failing as more little tears ran down her pale cheeks.

“Spot, you have to trust me.” She started hitting her palm lightly on his shoulder, capturing his attention. “I know I haven’t always been there in the past, but you have to trust me this time. I’m the only one who might be able to keep you safe. I’m the only one who’s been here before.” She said tears streaming down her cheeks, the image of her father flashing before her eyes. Spot jaw tightened but he let Lane from his grasp slowly, his eyes a glassy mask. She turned and reached up carefully, replacing the key in the brick, just like she found it.

She sighed and wiped her eyes, someone would know it was moved, but replacing it might give them a bit of a head start. She turned towards Spot, who spoke quietly but urgently.

“Lane, tell me what’s going on, don’t leave me in the dark.” He insisted taking her hand and shaking it gently before sparing another glance at the little symbol above their heads. She nodded and moved towards the doorway, pulling him with her.

“We shouldn’t talk outside.” She explained, looking around suspiciously, for Racetrack or anyone else. They hurriedly moved into the same forgotten room as earlier and Lane closed the door behind them, watching Spot pace. His hands were behind his back, his footsteps measured and precise.

“What is that Lane? You seem to know what it all means.” He said under his breath, waving his arm in frustration. Lane sighed and instinctively moved away from the window. Leaning on the wall next to it. Her tears had slowed but now she looked at the ground numbly.

“They’re called The Black Sun. Or _Sole Nero_ in the native Italian. They are a collection of gangs. A secret organization really.” She said off-handedly. Then with a bitter laugh, “No one knows who they are and no one ever will. They kill those they think are threats.” Lane looked slowly up to Spot, who had stopped pacing and was looking at her like she had gone mad.

“Then why the hell do they have my key?” He yelled throwing his hands up in anger. His shout, seemed to spur Lane. She pushed off the wall and shook her head, twirling the end of a long curl of hair around her finger tip.

“You must have done something to make them mad. But we don’t have time to waste. I’m not going to lie to you Spot.” She took one of his hands and looked into his distant blue eyes.

“I’m not going to lie. I’ve never seen anyone escape them. They only leave the unimportant.” She muttered, as he tore his hand from her grasp and turned away.

“So what do we do?!” He asked impatiently, taking up his pacing once more. Lane moved to stop him, but quickly gave up.

“There are really only two options. You either stay, and let them come kill you and everyone near to you. Or you run and fight.” She breathed, deflating under her own words; she knew what option Spot would pick. He turned quickly and kicked the remnants of a chair half way across the room, breaking the quiet.

“Dammit Lane, there has to be another way! How do I even know you know what you’re talking about?!” He yelled in a bout of frustration. Lane shook her head, silently pleading with him. He sighed and closed his eyes tight, clutching the air with his fists.

“I’ve made a life for myself here, Lane! You don’t expect me to leave do you? I’m King Lane! I have everything I want, I have power! I strike fear into everyone with a single glare! How can I give that up?!” He yelled practically begging her to see what he meant his eyes more desperate then she’d ever seen them. She moved towards him quickly, grabbing his wrists.

“Spot! I’d rather you be alive. All that’s worth nothing if you’re dead!” She yelled right back, her eyes grave. He dropped his eyes then gazed out the window at the skyline.

“There’s no way to stay and live.” He said simply, it wasn’t a question, but his eyes were lost. Lane dropped his wrists and wrung her hands together; her face was, however, determined.

“No one escapes their grasp Spot. No one. My father didn’t make it and he was strongest and toughest man I’ve ever met. I was lucky they found the seven year old girl I was unimportant. I escaped with scars, but I see now, I’ll never escape. They’ll keep hurting the ones I love.” She said lowering her eyes, seeing pictures from years ago. Spot looked at her quizzically. He was finding out more about her today than he had in their six or so years of friendship. He was about to speak but he heard her mutter,

“I’m only lucky Kloppman made it out alive.” She said, wiping one stray tear before realizing Spot had heard. Her voice grew hard.

“And the only reason he did is because he’s full blood Italian.” She hissed, turning away and wiping another tear. Spot stared at her back, his eyebrows knitted. He’d always wondered about the strange relationship between the elderly lodge house keeper and this fierce girl. Spot lowered his head, looking once more out the window at the bright sunlit day. He sighed and turned Lane around, pulling the shorter girl into his arms. For once, she knew so much more about a situation than Spot did. And he’d have to trust her.

“What do we do? You’re in charge.” He whispered, his voice icy and slightly sad, finally admitting his mortality to the one person who had a chance to save it


	4. Chapter 4

            Lane paced around the small room, her hands clenched behind her back as she chewed her lip, going over everything that had to be done. Spot slouched under the window, his eyes shifting and cold. She knew he wasn’t happy just sitting there, waiting to do something. Spot wasn’t one to sit while things had to be done. He shifted his shoulders and tilted his head towards her.

            “Listen, Lane, while you figure all this out, how ‘bout I run back to Brooklyn and grab some stuff.” He suggested, standing as if to go. Lane turned on her heel, her hands flying from her back to stop him.

            “No! You don’t get it do you?” She yelled, breaking the quite tones of the conversation. Spot turned quickly and started at her, his eyebrows knitted and mouth slightly ajar, not used to being yelled at, even from her.

            “You can’t go back to Brooklyn. They’ll be waiting for you there. That’s the first place they assume you would go, and you’re walking right into their trap!” She tried, splaying her hands in an effort to make him understand. Spot moved closer to her, crossing his arms in a show of defiance that didn’t quite make it to his eyes.

            “Well I got stuff there I need, what am I supposed to do?” He asked his voice low and frustrated. Lane rolled her eyes at him.

            “You’re as broke as I am, what could you possibly need that you don’t carry on you?” Lane scoffed eyeing him warily. Spot shuffled his feet un-characteristically and sighed.

            “I’ve got some money.” He muttered under his breath and took a step towards Lane, his head bent to her level. Her eyes lit up at the prospect, money was something they definitely needed.

            “That could be helpful. How much we talkin’?” She asked her voice low as well. Spot threw another glance at the door before rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

            “A little under 10 dollars.” He murmured holding his hands up in a motion to keep Lane quiet. Her eyes grew wide and a small smile appeared.

            “You’ve been holding out on me Spot! You’re right though we need that.” She said beginning to pace again. Spot moved from her, looking out the window.

            “I can go. I know where it is, and…” Lane moved over to him, grabbing his arm.

            “I’ll go Spot, I know the lodge house too and you really got to be more careful, they’re waiting for you.” She muttered, knowing Spot knew this; he just didn’t like to feel powerless. Spot nodded a new determination in his eyes.

            “It’s under the loose floor board in my room.” He said knowing she needed no other directions. Lane nodded, the layout plan of Spot’s room appearing in her head. It didn’t take much discussion between them in terms of the lodge house. She moved to leave but before she could make it to the door she turned again, looking at Spot warily, the moment that she last saw her father coming into her head. Spot looked up curiously as he leaned by the window, the picture of ease. She tilted her head, trying to keep her emotions in control.

            “If in two hours, I don’t come back, leave. Run, just get out of the city and don’t stop fighting. Trust no one.” She instructed,  her voice laced with sadness. Spot’s eyebrows furrowed as he pushed off the wall and moved towards her, grabbing her shoulders.

            “Listen Lane, this is a one-time thing, it’ll take you a half hour tops, and then we fight together. Just do it, you know the best way there and the lodge house just as well as I do. I’ll see you soon.” He said sternly, his blue eyes hard. He lightly pushed her from himself and returned to the wall by the window, his eyes downcast. Lane nodded stiffly and turned to go. He was right of course, they were a team now.

            “Don’t talk to any Italians.” She muttered one more time as she slipped out the door, knowing that Spot would find that stupid. She could hear Spot scoff behind her.

            “Three of the four people in the building are Italian, my God.” He muttered to himself. Lane smiled as she went out the back way and started to Brooklyn.

***

            It took Lane longer than she planned to get to Brooklyn, taking back roads and getting the across the Brooklyn Bridge was hard work trying to stay hidden from any wandering eyes. Lucky for her, the pedestrians were used to street rats and typically paid her kind no mind. She finally made it to the lodge house and moved slowly to the back entrance by the kitchen. It was early so the boys were probably all out selling. She crouched as she walked down the stairs to the cold floor before opening the heavy door. She took a deep breath and gathered her hair in a pony-tail out of nervousness before standing and pulling the door open a fraction of an inch, sticking her heel in and then looking and listening for any movements. When none came she slipped inside, shutting the door silently and moving across the kitchen into the main foyer.

           The stairs leading to the bunk rooms were down the hallway by the keeper’s rooms. She paused again and took another deep breath. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. The boys knew she was back and if they saw her she could make up a lie quick enough. But better not to be seen, she thought as she moved down the hallway silently and up the stairs, against the wall so the steps wouldn’t creek. Lane crouched next to the open bunk room door and stilled her breathing as she listened for footsteps. But once again, none came.

          She stood and ran silently across the room and to the back hallway which housed the spare room and the leader’s. She crouched and turned the brass handle slowly so it wouldn’t click and sent a silent ‘thank you’ that Spot was in such a rush he forgot to lock it. She shut the door behind her and scanned the room quickly moving behind the head of the bed and bending down in the corner. She pushed on the end of the closest board, and watched it flip up slightly. She sat back and tucked a stray hair behind her ear and moved the loose board aside.

          Her heart beat fast for a moment because nothing was in sight but she reached in and a foot or so back she felt the cool metal of a small box. It was an old tin with a stringy piece of twine tied around it. She tore off the twine hurriedly, casting an uneasy glance behind her, as she pulled off the lid. Inside was a collection of dollar bills rolled tightly together, another string holding it in place. In the corner was a stack of coins held together with wax. She smirked lightly at Spot’s organization and took the money out, replacing the tin carefully in its hole and starting to replace the board before the door slammed open for the second time that day with a loud crack.

         Lane didn’t jump, but her heart was beating with fear as she spun quickly around and stood, a fire in her eyes. They met the dark brown of Luck’s, Spot’s second in command. And he was mad. Her feet were still hidden by the bed so she slowly finished moving the board back in place, hoping Luck’s screaming would cover the noise. The large burly boy threw his arms up when he saw who it was, but he wasn’t smiling.

          “What the hell are you doin’ here Lane? Where’s Spot?” He asked suspicion in his eyes as he tried to see what she held in her hands. Great, now he would think she was stealing. She held the money behind her back and slowly slipped it into her sleeve, holding the cuff in her fist so it wouldn’t slip out. She shook her head, trying to calm him down.

          “He’s in Manhattan with Racetrack.” She started before Luck could cut her off again. He took another step towards her but she countered it, stepping from behind the bed. She wasn’t about to let herself get cornered.

         “Then why are you here and he’s not?” He asked, no longer screaming, but still obviously defensive. She tried not to fidget as she looked around the room for something she could distract him with.

         “Spot sent me to pick something up. I was just looking for it.” She said, as innocently as she could, trying to keep her temper back. Luck’s anger died a little more but he clearly wasn’t happy. He crossed his arms and worked his jaw.           

         “’Kay, what are you looking for then?” He asked taking another step as Lane countered him. Lane lifted an eyebrow and her eyes got hard, her temper flaring against her will.

         “It doesn’t involve you now does it? So why should I tell you?” She asked, taking a step towards him in hopes to back him into the hallway. A moment of confusion flicked across his face.

          “You were stealin’ weren’t you?” He asked, trying to see over the bed, but not moving any closer to Lane. She let out a curt laugh and rolled her eyes, surprising Luck as she moved towards him again, making him take a small step back.

          “You really think I need to steal from Spot?” She started eyeing him and smiling, trying to bury her nervousness. Luck’s confused look returned.

           “There’s no need, he’d give me what I wanted. Maybe this time I’ll be back to stay.” She said with a slight shrug, trying to play up the fact that she was welcome. Luck was a simple guy and was almost playing along. He looked down long enough for her to grab Spot’s slingshot off the bed, he had forgotten it in his rush and it was the perfect distraction.

           “I was here last time Lane, I remember when he-" Lane cut him off with a glare sharp enough to kill, a real angry fire burning in her now.

           “I’m like family, Luck!” She started raising an eyebrow, daring him to bring that up again. “He’d never, not welcome me back with open arms.” She whispered, never dropping Luck’s gaze. He worked his jaw again; trying to wrap his mind around Lane’s sudden appearance and now the fact she was snooping in Spot’s room. Lane rolled her eyes, if this is what Spot was leaving Brooklyn to; it’s almost a shame he has to leave.

           “I don’t trust you.” He said roughly, looking down at her and crossing his arms. She smiled and held up the slingshot as she moved past him and into the hall.

           “I’m not asking you to.” She murmured as she shut the door on him, her heart pounding, and quickly made her way down the stairs and outside, not caring if any other newsie saw her leave.

***

            Lane leaned heavily against the kitchen door, taking a deep breath. Luck had followed her and caught her in the act. Was she losing her touch? She wasn’t even really stealing and couldn’t do it without being seen. She let out a long shuttering breath. Maybe she couldn’t keep Spot safe. She shook her head, clearing her mind for now. She had to get back to Manhattan.

           She pulled on the hem of her skirt and opened the little pocket she had sewed on the inside. She set the money in it carefully and closed it, settling the slingshot in her waistband, and started the long walk to Manhattan.

          Lane wasn’t even out of Brooklyn before she noticed how high the sun was; noon. She had to pick up her pace; more time had passed than she thought. She took a quick step before she could return her eyes to the road and slammed into a large body, which sent her tumbling to the ground with a shriek of surprise. She looked up as she hit the bricks, her elbow smarting as the man who tripped her looked down for a fraction of a second. His jet black, greasy hair and sharp features scared her more than anything she could remember, certainly anything that had happened today.

          Before she could process what had happened he had gone. She was frozen, fallen on the bricks for longer than she would have liked, his face burned into her memory. If someone had asked her to describe her father’s killer she couldn’t pull his face from memory. But seeing him, a few feet away, it was like she never forgot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you liked this chapter. I’m going back to school as of tomorrow so I’ll try to pump out a chapter every week/week and a half. Feel free to drop me a line, and if you don’t mind a review would be lovely! –Thanksamillion, Scratch.


	5. chapter five

            Lane couldn’t think by the time she reached the lodge house. She ran all the way back to Manhattan, not caring if anyone saw her because she had just come face to face with her nightmare. And he had walked away. Left her lying there as if he didn’t remember her crying pale face, framed by a mess of black hair all those years ago. That was the man who killed her father, that was the man who let her live. She didn’t know his name, but she knew who he worked for, and now it was him who was after Spot. They could have sent anyone to kill Spot Conlon, but they sent him, almost like they knew that Lane would be there.

            She shook her head and slowed her pace as she entered the lodge house, leaning on the worn wood outside the little meeting room to catch her breath before going to talk to Spot. But as she leaned against the wall it wasn’t Spot she heard on the inside.

            “What are you thinkin’ Spot?! You hardly know her, she could disappear again.” Racetrack shouted as Lane knit her brows. She couldn’t hear Spot’s quieter response, which she feared meant Spot agreed with him.

            “You keep falling for her nonsense every time she comes to town. You can’t keep such a soft spot for her!” He yelled and she heard what she presumed was Spot’s fist hitting the wall.

            “Just stop, Race, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spot interjected, but Race carried on anyway.

            “In fact she’s probably half way to Boston by now.” He warned as Lane threw the door open. Spot was leaned against the back wall, his jaw working and his arms crossed angrily as Race paced across the room.

            “Boston’s nice but I think I’ll stay thanks.” She snapped, crossing her arms as she glared at a dumbfounded Race. Spot scoffed and smirked at Race’s surprised face as he moved to clap him on the back.

            “Told you she’d be back.” He muttered, moving to the window. Race shook his head.

            “It doesn’t matter. You’re never going to get by Il Sole Nero.” He said, his accent coming out stronger with the Italian phrase. Lane paled.

            “How do you know of Il Sole Nero?” She whispered, squinting at him, her distrust growing. Race rolled his eyes.

            “I’m Italian, everyone knows who they are!” He shouted throwing his hands up. She shifted uncomfortably as Spot watched her stare Race down.

            “So you saw the mark.” She said, trying to gauge whether or not he had a hand in putting it there.  He nodded, suddenly serious again.

            “Tu non posso vittoria” He muttered angrily. Spot raised an eyebrow at this sudden change of language. Lane scoffed. It was obvious Racetrack didn’t think she kept her native Italian. As mad as she was deep down she wasn’t sure if they could win either but she wasn’t about to let Racetrack know that.

            “Ho sopravvissuto prima di, Io farò di nuovo.” She spat back at him. Spot pushed off the wall, looking at them quizzically. Race stared at her hard and moved closer.

            “E Spot? Faranno lasciarlo vivere?” He shouted right in her face, gesturing at Spot, who was growing increasingly angrier.

            “Io volontà non di lasciarlo morire!” She yelled, instinctively pushing Race from her. He stumbled and cursed her in Italian. Spot threw his arms between them.

            “Guys! Would you at least fight in English? We don’t have time for this shit, we’ve got to go.” He hissed, his voice like daggers breaking up their argument. Race looked down; obviously upset he couldn’t get through to them. He took one last long look at Spot then moved towards the door, shaking his head.

            “You don’t understand what you’re up against.” He muttered, pulling the door open and slamming it behind him. Lane looked at the closed door for a moment, trying to figure out what Race meant. The suspicion that he knew something they didn’t kept growing stronger. They stood for a moment in silence before Spot kicked the wall in anger, as Lane turned back to face him. He shook his head stiffly then looked at her.

            “Did you get the money?” He asked, watching as the sun came into view of the window. It was already the afternoon. She nodded pulling it out of the pocket of her skirt.

            “Luck gave me some trouble. But he’s probably not smart enough to figure out what’s going on.” She muttered, handing it over to him. He nodded, obviously torn.

            “So excited to leave Brooklyn in his capable hands.” He muttered sarcastically as he pocketed the money. Lane nodded stiffly and moved over to the door. She glanced back as Spot followed her and paused.

            “I’ve got to talk to Kloppman really quick.” She murmured, not sure she wanted Spot to see what was probably going to be an emotional goodbye. He started to shake his head.

            “We don’t have the time we should just leave-“He started before Lane fixed him with an expectant look. He nodded, suddenly solemn.

            “I get it. I’ll be around here.” He said as he watched Lane walk into the other room. She found Kloppman in the front lobby, ringing his aged hands. He looked up when he saw her and his sad eyes were enough to know he saw the mark too. She nodded as she leaned against the front desk.

            “They’re coming for Spot?” It wasn’t as much of a question as a conformation. She sighed and nodded.

            “We’re leaving in a few minutes.” She explained shrugging her shoulders as if this was commonplace. He let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand over his balding head. Lane shuddered at the thought of seeing that man on the street earlier.

            “It’s the same man.” She started looking up at Kloppman. “It’s the same man that killed Father. I saw him on the street today. I don’t think he remembered me.” She explained watching a shot of fear cross his face. He shook his head.

            “He remembers you. People don’t forget who they hurt. They sent him for a reason Lane, this isn’t just about Spot.” He said looking towards the room where they both knew Spot was listening. Lane looked to the floor and balanced on her bare toes.

            “They’re coming to finish what they started.” She muttered, knowing it was true. They knew her connection to Spot so to them this was like killing two birds with one stone. Almost literally.

            “I’m not full blood Italian.” She cursed almost regretfully, knowing things would be so much easier if she was. She’d spent almost her entire life trying to stay in the shadows, never staying anywhere long but they were catching up. Kloppman nodded and put a soft hand on her shoulder. She met his eyes warily.

            “You still have your father’s side. The Irish are a proud, strong people as well, and you shouldn’t count out that side of you. As much as you are your mother, you have the support of two worlds, and that’s more than most people can ask for.” He told her quietly, his eyebrows knitted.

            Lane was about to reply when the door to the meeting room burst open and Spot came storming out, his eyes wide. Lane jumped back as Kloppman tightened his grip on her shoulder instinctively.

            “I was watching out the window. Someone’s coming this way. Not someone we want to see.” He warned loudly, grabbing Lane’s wrist and dragging her towards the back exit. She planted her feet and spun to face him as Kloppman hurried towards the window.

            “Wait how do you know?” She asked, trying to pry his fingers from around her wrist with no avail. Spot shook his head and rolled his eyes.

            “Let’s just say I’ve been in enough tough places that I can see trouble walking from a mile away.” His voice lowered and he stopped struggling with her for a second.

            “Lane, we have to go. Now. Otherwise I doubt anyone’s making it out of this lodge house.” He said quietly. Spot respected her and her place in all of this but his voice was still only slightly softer than the commanding tone he normally employed. Kloppman hurried back over then, ushering them towards the door as well.

            “He’s right, and so were you. He’s coming.” He pushed them to the door in a speed an elderly man shouldn’t possess. But suddenly he stopped and put his hands on Lane’s shoulders then pulled her into a tight hug.

            “Be careful my _Gattina_.” He rumbled in his low voice for only her to here. She hugged him tightly as well. She tried to tell him something- good bye, good luck, be safe, anything, but her throat stuck and before she realized what was happening, Spot pulled her out of the back door and they were running, leaving the lodge house behind them, and Kloppman to his fate. Whatever fate that was. She held back a sob as she kept pace with Spot, her cold feet slapping the bricks, the wind stinging her eyes and drying whatever tears she had to give. It was just her and Spot now.

***

            Four alley ways, three sharp turns, and one brush with heavy foot traffic later, Spot and Lane collapsed in a forgotten alley way on the edge of News Paper Row. It wasn’t surprising they ended up here; it was such a familiar place to both of them. Most of the newsies were selling right now; you could hear their loud voices over the din of the street crowd.

Lane breathed hard as she sat on the ground, brushing gravel and dirt off the bottoms of her feet. Spot sat across from her, his eyes scanning the mouth of the alley way and every person who walked by it. They sat for a few minutes in silence, Lane’s mind spun from the events of the day and she tried to avoid thinking of Kloppman. Spot cleared his throat and Lane looked up at him questioningly.

“Listen.” He looked at her sternly but his expression softened quickly. “I just want to say I’m sorry about Klop-“ Lane cut him off with a shake of her head.

“I don’t want to talk about it. We’ve got more important things we need to figure out.” She said sharply. Spot worked his jaw but backed off the topic. The silence hung between them until Spot turned his blue eyes to her.

“What’s next? Where do we go from here?” He asked quietly, his voice breaking uncharacteristically. She broke their gaze and looked at the folds of her torn skirt.

“Away. Anywhere. Out of the city would be best. We just keep running now.” She muttered as the wind whistled down the alley, pulling pieces of paper with it and around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys for reading! I’m really going to try and put more chapters up quickly. When I use Italian I’ll put a translation in the author’s note so you guys aren’t completely lost. It’s basic stuff though and I won’t use it often so you should be fine! Thanks again for reading, and don’t be afraid to drop me a line!!  
> -Scratch  
> Tu non posso vittoria – You cannot win.  
> Ho sopravvissuto prima di, Io farò di nuovo – I survived before I can do it again  
> E Spot? Faranno lasciarlo vivere – You believe they’ll let him live?  
> Io volontà non di lasciarlo morire – I will not let him die  
> Gattina- term of endearment meaning ‘little cat’


End file.
